


Moths to a flame

by dulciscoeur



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, First Time Meeting, Fluff, Romance, Smut, loubbie, sorry i had to, sprinkled on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulciscoeur/pseuds/dulciscoeur
Summary: Four different times they celebrated (or not) New Years.





	Moths to a flame

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a song "hidden" in the second title. That’s what I was listening to when I wrote that part.

**2008:** _3.1415_

  
A minute into the new year and Debbie doesn’t feel any different. There is no other indication of a new beginning except for the golden minute hand of her watch and the false collective agreement of everyone else around her. She wasn’t expecting something to shift in the air exactly, but she wasn’t not expecting it either. Somewhere inside her chest, the faint flicker of an imaginary candle burns out. She doesn’t dwell on the meaning of that. Nostalgia makes its nest in her heart, though she doesn’t really know why.

There are times when her vision swims with images of better times, her mind purposefully tiptoeing around other memories, much more triggering, avoiding them like a minefield. But there are way too many traps, and eventually, she always ends up losing the game.

She’s isolated herself on the stool of the bar that’s farther from the entrance. She almost laughs at her own predictability, bitterly annoyed.

The sight of a glass appearing before her brings her back to reality, ice cubes clinking inside a small river of amber quieting her thoughts.

Her eyes follow the length of the slender arm holding the drink up to an unfamiliar face.

“You look like you need it.” The raspy accented voice doesn’t quite match the playfulness of sparkling blue eyes partially hidden behind a blonde fringe.

“I look that bad, huh?” She takes a sip of the drink she’s been offered, the oaky aftertaste of bourbon lingering on her tongue long after the liquid made it past her throat.

“Not one bit,” her pupils dilate for a fleeting instant when she speaks, but then her own drink is at her lips, leaving Debbie wondering if she’d just imagined what she saw. She watches the woman empty the glass, then turn to her. “Lou Miller.” She offers her hand as an introduction, cocking a sharp eyebrow, lips curled into a close-lipped smile. 

Debbie decides she likes the way _Lou_ sounds on her tongue and lips when she repeats the name in acknowledgment, she likes how they curl at the simple syllable of her name. 

“Debbie Ocean,” she provides with a smile.

She catches the time on her wrist when she extends her arm to meet Lou’s hand halfway. 

00:17 their fingers touch, and something does shift in the air _and_ inside her after all.

 

***

 

 **2010:** _[Love dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpOtuoHL45Y) _

  
It’s friday afternoon when the feel of hands sliding up her tank top wakes Lou up. Too lazy to open her eyes just yet, she stretches like a cat, muscles tensing and then relaxing so exquisitely that a low moan escapes from her vocal chords, liquid drowsiness spreading through her limbs like mercury in her veins.

Her lungs fill with the characteristic scent of bergamot soap coming from Debbie, who’s apparently freshly out of the shower, tracing circles around her navel, the faintest of touch brushing against her skin as light as the caress of a ghost. Lou seems to absorb the residual warmth of the steam from her body as she hovers over her, fever settling wherever their bodies make contact, impossibly soft lips planting kisses against the top of her head, like butterflies fluttering through her hair tickling her scalp lightly.

She feels more than hears Debbie’s “Hey” vibrating below the tender skin of her throat.

The heat is now migrating to Lou’s thighs, nerve endings delighting in the sensation of Debbie’s fingertips, goosebumps following the pattern Debbie’s stroking up and down her naked flesh. Lou shudders involuntarily, slowly blinking the sleep away.

“Hey, yourself,” she murmurs, looking at Debbie through hooded eyes, a little smile dancing on her lips.

Dusky warm colors set upon Debbie’s face from the tangerine sunset spilling through the window beyond her frame, pink and gold and indigo silhouettes merging together in her eyes like three different drinks dissolving in clear water. Caravaggio’s art crosses Lou’s mind. _Beatific._ The adoration she sees behind the tan flecks of Debbie’s irises make her heart swell, and she finds it impossible not to pull her in for a long kiss, slow and gentle and so very deliberate.

Mouths never parting, Debbie moves to meld her body with Lou’s, draped over her, legs tangled and centers aligned to each other’s thighs. Both hips roll against each other, one an ocean and the other the shore, waves of pleasure surging through in the familiar synchrony of their dance. They do this for what seems like hours, lose themselves in the sweet depths of their kiss, devouring one another until they’re breathless at last, lips bruisingly tender.

Debbie trails her fingers down Lou’s stomach, lowers her hand to place it between their bodies, pressing against Lou’s center, two fingers then moving her panties to the side, moaning her appreciation when she finds the wetness pooling there.

“Happy New Year, babe.” A single finger eases its way slowly into her heat, and Lou sighs.

 _Happy fucking New Year_ , indeed.

 

***

 

 **2013:** _Year of the Snake_

 

They have been unsuccessfully trying to delay the arrival of this moment. Things kept happening and happening, life laughing to their faces at their futile attempts to stop the inevitable, some dark force of fate spitting its venom onto them, dooming what once was the only good thing in their lives.

Lou feels a lump forming in her throat as panic starts to set in, the weight of the feelings kept at bay set free, shockwaves of agony pummeling her body, sucking her down. Her stomach churns in violent waves, desperation turning to nausea and vice-versa in a never-ending cycle.

She feels the weight of Debbie’s gaze on her but she simply can’t muster the courage to look at her. Lou’s fingers are gripping her tightly, and she focuses on the solid warmth of Debbie’s wrist between her fingers, grip like a vice.

“Please, don’t leave,” it’s a broken whisper, her eyes burn but there were no tears— she’d run out of them long ago.

Debbie actually flinches at the raw vulnerability she finds in Lou’s voice, caught off guard. She sits next to her on the bed, pulling Lou against her, burying her face into her chest.

“Lou,” she began, her own voice strangled, thick with emotions constricting her throat. “I have to, Lou, I can’t--”

“No. Please... don’t.” Lou interrupts. She feels herself getting lightheaded, sick to her stomach, and she just can’t bear hearing Debbie say what she knows she’ll say. Everything aches with a dull throb and she squeezes her arms tightly around Debbie’s waist.

Debbie lifts her chin with a finger, but whatever she was about to say is cut short by the silent plea in Lou’s glossy eyes. She understands what Lou’s asking for without the need for words. She always has.

“Shh. It’s okay,” she soothes, the hot threat of tears rimming her eyes, threatening to escape. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a blatant lie, they both know it and knowledge hurt, but exhaustion starts to overcome Lou’s body, and she allows her body to relax against Debbie’s once more, if only for the last time, wanting to get closer, needing to get closer. Head against heartbeat, Debbie’s fingers running through her hair, she begins to drift away between numbness and pain.

When she wakes up in the middle of the night, Debbie is no longer there.

 

****

 

 **2018:** _Infinite constants and all._

  
“Inmate Ocean.”

Something lands on her bunk before she even has the chance to register the officer’s voice, and it slides down to the floor when she closes her book and sits. Debbie glances at the yellow envelope as if it were a bomb posing a threat. She wasn’t expecting anything from her contacts outside and certainly doesn’t have any close relatives left interested enough in her life to send a letter.

The image of Aunt Ida crosses her mind, and she grabs the already opened envelope carefully, somewhat apprehensive, scared to find bad news inside.

Her fingers slide out a laminated card that looks like it was made by a five-year-old. It has scalloped gold edges, the background white with glittery snowflakes here and there that shimmer when the sparkly dust picks up the light. There’s some kind of shaky attempt at two birds on the center, holding a sign with their peaks that says I tried. One of them has bright orange prison scrubs made out of cardboard poorly glued to its body and brown cellophane cut-outs on both sides of the head for hair. The other one is wearing what Debbie assumes is a leather jacket, yellow tissue paper for hair. All this encircled with a red marker and an arrow pointing to a phrase written in small letter on the left corner: This is you and me.

Debbie laughs. It’s so distinctly her that she doesn’t need a signature to know it’s from Lou. She turns the card to see if there’s more.

_Hopefully, this would be in your hands by New Year's Eve. Happy Holidays, honey. See you soon. -L_

It’s one week into January too late, but seven days closer to the day they’re both waiting for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t exactly know what this is or where it came from and it’s absolutely unbetaed and I kid you not, I wrote it in like two hours at 4 am because I’m insomnia’s bitch so please be kind. Or not. But just bear in mind that so many things happened between one drabble and the other and that I genuinely believe that after their big angsty break-up, things eventually settled and *cough* ended *cough* on good terms. I may have to write something to fill in the blanks in between, but for now, this is all I’ve got. 
> 
> Also, Debbie and Lou making love; amirite, ladies, amirite? Just good ol’ just-woke-up-and-im-horny-but-also-feeling-lazy lovemaking. Ouf.
> 
> Oh, and would you be so kind as to correct any spelling or grammar mistakes if you see them? I can’t for the love of God keep my eyes open long enough to edit this and I feel like if I don’t post it now it’s just gonna end up forgotten somewhere in my archives. Also, English is not my mother language. And constructive criticism and comments in general are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
